


Titulus Esse

by FeatherHeavy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: College AU, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatherHeavy/pseuds/FeatherHeavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Sam leaves the house after a fight with his father, Dean finds himself dreaming of leaving too. When his father finds out he applied to college, Dean is kicked out and stays at his boss's, Bobby's, house. Meanwhile, he keeps bumping into this strange guy called Castiel. What's really going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scream and Shout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Breanna Abboud](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Breanna+Abboud).



> I know, I know, it says 'Explicit'. Smut will come later on, be patient.

Castiel put his head into his hands. This was it. If he didn’t see the ominous stack of homework, given by him, he could will it to disappear. Will it to disappear. Will it to…

He slid a finger to the side shyly. Still there. A weight for him to grade and ponder through. He sighed dramatically. He had given them the work. It was only fair that he graded it as fairly and as best as he could. Curse his moral compass. Dinner seemed eons ahead of him.

* * *

“What the fuck do you mean we have to move?” Sam screamed.”We moved just last week!”

This earned him a vicious slap across the cheek from his father.” How dare you talk to me like that! They’re after us, Samuel. I don’t give a rat’s ass if we have to move 50 times in one day, as long as they’re off our trail!” John Winchester fumed, his voice condensing the atmosphere as quickly as only he could.

Sam didn’t give up; he bit his lip.” I have tests, Dad. I have a life! College prep. SATs. You actually think I wanna be working as a mechanic like your sweet boy Deanie? I WANT TO GO TO COLLEGE!”

Another slap. Dean cringed, his teeth verging on shattering.

This time, Sam snarled, swinging his own hand to meet his father’s face. The tension was so thick, Dean was stuck still.

“Like HELL YOU ARE! Get outta my house! Any boy who treats his father like that outta live on the streets!” he screamed violently, shaking the house with his boom.

“FINE! I’m fucking done with this moving-around bullshit! I CAN’T BELIEVE I PUT UP WITH YOU FOR 18 YEARS!” Sam rushed up the stairs, and Dean could hear him throw open his closet door, jamming random shit into his bag, a loud zip. His father had thundered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, practically flinging it off its hinges. He grabbed a beer. Loud footsteps and suddenly Sam was gone.

“I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS HELL HOLE, DEAN!” He screamed angrily, but Dean could hear  the near-sob. Dean had known him for 18 years.

* * *

 

  ****

The next morning, Dean was in California. University Of California, Berkeley passed by and Dean had the aching feeling that he’d never have that life. And the feeling vanished when he told himself he would. He’d stay here no matter if Dad left or not and go to college. For sure. Because if Sam wouldn’t be proud then the Devil is good.

Dean sang along messily to the song on the radio for the rest of the drive. But the thought of getting the college application never left him.


	2. SAT: Stupid-Ass Tests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be very short, but there will be a hell lot of 'em, just sayin'

 

* * *

7 Months Later

* * *

 

           Dean was still practically sweating.

After a fuck-ton of paperwork, coaxing and lying to his father, he had taken the SATs. Who knew so many colleges didn’t accept people without them?

But the feeling afterward was like someone had taken a lever and dropped a 50 lb. weight on his shoulders. What if he failed? What if his score wasn’t high enough to get to the 21st best school of America? I mean, he’s pretty shitty in stuff like math and reading. That was Sam’s thing. But.. he had understood most of the questions. That should mean something, right? And he studied so much, his brain hurt. Like, a throbbing, fiery heat. For 2 days. He practically deserves to go to that stupid school. And hell, he’d saved up enough cash to go to. 28,000 bucks, sitting under his mattress. Wooh, was that a weight.

However, he walked out shaking only a little bit, chin raised to the damned sky. That made him feel pretty fucking good, considering he saw a couple of youngsters Sammy’s age crying. Yeah, he felt fucking splendid. If only Sammy could’ve seen this.

He smiled raunchily to himself as he left the building, an inner high-five to himself. He walked with purpose back to his Baby, practically hearing her blast “Ramble On” through her speakers. The ones he had personally installed with the 500 bucks he had saved up. Damn, was that an accomplishment for him at the age of 17.

He was halfway to his midnight black Baby before he looked up. Red lights flashed in his mind.’You shouldn’t have looked up’ they told him. They were probably right.

He collided head on with a man only slightly shorter in stature than himself. Clashing foreheads, he tilted back from the impact, sending himself sprawling onto the concrete. In retrospect, the walk seemed arrogant, haughty. Now, he was in his place. Hmmmph.

However, so was the douche that knocked into him. I mean, watch where you’re going, right? Dean looked up to confront the ass when he was surprised to see the guy get up quickly, face hidden.

“I am sorry, this is my fault, I was not looking while walking towards my vehicle,” he blabbered. His speech itself was weird, but he was astounded to see him wearing a trenchcoat. It was at least 80 degrees and this klutz was wearing a trenchcoat.

“No, it’s fine, I wasn’t looking too much, either,” Dean said slowly, obliged to apologize.  However, he didn’t move from the ground, still shocked by the appearance and manner of the poor guy. He was picking up books that had fallen out of his satchel. His fucking leather satchel. What the fuck. The guy’s hands grabbed this way and that, his whole body moving from the motion.

“No, it was truly my error, but I am grateful for your apology.” He murmured, quickly grabbing the last book. He finally looked up at Dean and he got a blast of blue. Shocking blue. Abnormal blue. Was it the light? Or maybe the sky? No, even the sky wasn’t that blue.

When Dean recovered from the shock, he slowly stood up like a man, brushed off his pants and reached out to shake hands with the fellow. The fellow with the weird eyes and rustled black hair. Who smelled a bit like aftershave although it was clear he hadn’t shaved for at least a couple of days.

“It’s all cool, seriously, no biggie.” He smiled, doubting someone could be so sorry for bumping into a stranger.”I’m Dean,” he cleared his throat.

The man accepted the hand.” I am named Castiel Novak,” He rasped, bowing his head a bit. The side of his mouth upturned a bit and he shook his hand awkwardly with Dean.

“Nice to meet you, Cas, I hav-” Dean started, but was stopped by Cas, who cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Cas?” He questioned softly, voice barely over a whisper.

“What, no one ever call ya that? It’s a nickname,” Dean chuckled.

“No, I have been called Clarence, but that is an infuriating name I would rather not be called,” his brow further wrinkled.

“I-Is Cas alright?”  Dean asked, self-conscious. What was he kidding, when was he gunna see this Castiel fellow again? Never! So why bother with nicknames.

“Cas. Yes. I quite like it,” Castiel smiled to himself.

Dean bumped the moment a bit.”Well, Cas, I gotta go to work, so nice meeting ya!” He grinned lightly, to be polite.

“Oh, yes, of course. Good day, Dean,” Castiel called, waving as Dean walked swiftly to his car. He turned around, and made a motion with his hand near his head, like a salute, but with only his pointer and middle fingers.

“Bye!” He called. He thought he’d never see this guy, Cas, again. He was wrong. 


	3. Confrontations and Sleepovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, do things, love life.

* * *

1 Month Later

* * *

Dean trudged back from work, wringing his hands out.

“What the fuck is this?” His father apprehended him when he got home from Bobby’s garage. He held an envelope, seal slit open.

“Uh...I..” Was Dean’s intellectual reply. Frankly, he had no idea what the letter was or its contents.

“Uhh-Uhh,” His father mimicked him.”I’ll fucking tell you what this is. This is an acceptance letter. Do you fucking apply to college?” He sneered.

“I- what?” Was all Dean could manage. An acceptance letter? Some loser had actually accepted him? He had applied to tons of colleges and universities, anyone that would take him. An acceptance letter mystified him.

“Yeah. And this isn’t the first one!” John Winchester yelled, slamming five more acceptance slips on the table.”What the fuck do you think this is? We don’t have the time for dumbass schools. The only reason ya even went to school was ‘cuz the state would have my ass if ya didn’t!” He slammed his fist on the table, crumpling the papers.” Don’t make me throw ya out of the house like that piece o’ shit!”

Dean winced. It had taken three months to accept he was going to have to survive without Sammy, to accept Sammy wasn’t going to come back, wasn’t going to accept his calls. All he got were monthly texts that said he was doing fine and where he was, because Sammy knew he would go crazy if he didn’t know his little brother was okay.

“He wasn’t a piece of shit! Maybe he wanted a better life, not a fucked up one where your dad keeps moving you around ‘cuz he did something stupid!” he yelled, knowing the consequences immediately after he had spoken.

Slap.

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me, boy,” the Winchester father growled, looking his son fiercely in the eye.” You either tell them to stick these up their ass, or you follow your brother.”

“Fuck you,” Dean said decidedly, with malice in his voice. He grabbed the slips and ran upstairs.

“You pack your shit up right now and get the hell outta my house!” He heard his father yell. A feeling of deja vu passes over him and he laughed cynically. The entire world was against him. But he had this, he had these college acceptance letters, and he had his Baby. He could do this. He gulped, telling himself to believe the bullshit running through his head.

‘It will all be alright’, he thought to himself. That thought stuck as he pushed his belongings into a bag, smiling.

He felt freedom.

* * *

However, it wasn't as easy as that. Where would he stay? He didn't have any friends. The only other person he could run to was Bobby. Why shouldn't he go to Bobby? Not like he hadn't stayed over before. He drove silently to the little dirt pile of a house that smelled like home.

It had started raining while he was driving. He glanced pitifully to the side, to the seat next to him. There sat most of his belongings, in a tiny bag. Had he always owned so little? How had he gotten by?

He parked his Impala, listening to every creak it made, to the sound of her engine, the purr that slowly melted out of existence. He grabbed the bag by the straps, hauled the minuscule thing over his shoulder, and bumbled down the long driveway to his godfather's and boss's door. The rain lengthened his bangs with its weight, pouring harshly on him, drenching him, head to toe. He hardly thought the clothes in the bag would be dry by the time he made it to the front door.

He raised his knuckles and rapped twice. The worn and begrudging face appeared, looking him up and down before saying,"Well. Don't just sit there like a cat in the rain," in a rough, gravelly voice. Dean had never felt more welcome.

* * *

"What are you doing at my house, boy?" Bobby scanned him over as Dean devoured the soup hungrily.

“‘E kicked meh outhhh,” Dean slurped, looking almost ashamed. However, Bobby didn’t hear him.

“I can’t understand you with all that chow in your mouth! Swallow and then speak,” Bobby grumbled. Dean swallowed quickly, almost choking on a noodle.

“He kicked me out,” He muttered solemnly.

“What did he do that for? I can’t babysit you!”

“I-umm,” Dean cleared his throat and handed Bobby the crumpled papers that he still had held onto. Bobby glanced over the papers quickly, but his eyes widened in shock.

“You got yourself into a lot of bullcrap, ya idjit.” He shook his head, sighing.”Why ya wanna go to college for, anywho?”

“C’mon, Bobby! I’m twenty-six! I can’t work at your garage forever.. I need an education,” Dean rubbed his temples, abandoning the soup to talk.

“Like Hell they’re gunna accept ya, though,” his godfather grunted.

“I know, I know. But Dad said those were acceptance letters. I got accepted!” Dean waved his hands, passionate that someone, anyone, had let him in. They wanted him. They’d rather let him in than some crazy nerd dude who knows so much more than him.

But who had? Who had accepted him? He’d filled in applications until his brain hurt; how would he know to which schools he sent them? Hopefully good ones. Dean grabbed at the letters quickly, hearing Bobby yell, “Hey!” as he did.

He scanned the letters hungrily. University of Southern California, yes. Harvey Mudd College, yes. With a full ride. Weird. University of California, Los Angeles, yes. Another full ride. Stanford University, no. Stanford? Why the fuck did he apply to Stanford? Bobby was right. Like Hell they’d accept him. California Institute of Technology, yes..? That was a good school. Why had they said yes?

And with a scholarship. He didn’t think he had such good grades. With all that internet shit and checking grades online, he barely knew if he would pass the grade. The teachers never gave him his papers back either, just told him to check online. Pff, as if he wanted to get anywhere near that deathtrap of a machine.

Here was the real kicker. Pomona University. Pomona had said yes. Pomona. Sam had told him he hoped of going to Pomona, and dreamed of going to Stanford and all those other fancy-schmancy schools. How had he, Dean Winchester, gotten a scholarship to Pomona? How? What had he done right?

He drove his fingers through his hair. Bobby squinted down at him. “What’s wrong, Dean?” Dean sighed and smiled.

“I got a scholarship to Pomona,” he breathed out.

“What the he-”

“I got a scholarship to Pomona!” Dean yelled enthusiastically, the reality sinking in. He leaped out of his seat, running his hands down his face and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Fuck yes!” he screamed, punching the air. Dean almost did a solid backflip before Bobby grabbed the papers and hit him on the back of the headwith them.

“Calm down, ya idjit! Now what the hell is Pomoany and a scholar-whatever? What are you so excited about?”

“Pomona is a really good, like crazy good, school. And-uh, a scholarship is basically them paying you to attend the school for a year. All four years for free is a full ride,” Dean jabbered excitedly.

Dean blew air out, trying to calm himself down. A scholarship. He didn’t have to pay for the first year, and that was hella lucky, considering how expensive it was to go. He had a full year to save up for the next. No need to ask a dumbass bank for money. Oh, he was so, so lucky.

“Sit down and finish your soup, ya dumbass!” Bobby growled, wapping him again with the papers. He muttered to himself and left, but Dean swore he could see him smile as he went.


	4. Car Crashes and Smiles Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I even supposed to put here now

Now the only thing Dean could think about was telling Sam. Oh, Sam would be so proud! And yeah, that made him a flower to want to see Sam’s face when he told him, but damn, if a flower he was, a flower he’d be. Pomona! He felt like he should high-five himself! But that would be the fucking dorkiest shit ever, so no, he wouldn’t high-five himself. BUT POMONA! His thoughts couldn’t stray from the idea, the reality, that he was going to Pomona. He had even registered. Not a week before the first day, but the next morning. Now that was something.

Dean was in his Impala, driving through the crisp, dark night. It was around midnight, and Dean was sure his dad would be at the local pub. He was going back for the rest of his belongings, his clothes and shit.

The week at Bobby’s was great, and because he arrived earlier and stayed later at work, Bobby had given him a bonus. But that wasn’t it. Dean could feel that Bobby had given him the bonus because of the college fund. I mean, he had given it to him three days after him telling Bobby the good news. Seemed a bit suspicious, right? But Bobby wasn’t a softie, so he would never admit it.

Getting lost in thought, Dean didn’t see the car. He didn’t see the car swerve to get out of his way until the last second. He applied the brakes so hard, his body slid down the seat, reaching for the damned thing. His heart skid, and he barely missed the 2009 Ford Focus. He huffed out quick breaths and looked at the driver.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

It was Castiel.

* * *

The pure shock that vibrated through his body was disturbing. What a fucking tiny world. How had he knocked into Cas out of every person in the world. Why not some burly dude who could probably lift him. Or some angry soccer mom? But noooo, he had to crash into blue-eyed beauty queen. What the flying fuck.

Castiel looked even more disturbed than him. His face was almost a paper white, eyes large and magnified to the point where Dean could see the blue in the dark of Cas’s car. Dean could faintly hear the screeching sound, and he would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so scared. Castiel was still pressing on the brake. Continuously.

Cas threw open the door shakily, running his hands through his raven hair, disheveling it further. Dean had the faint image of sex hair in the back of his mind and he gulped reflexively. Castiel took off his trenchcoat and placed it neatly on his seat, considering how stunned he was. He jogged slightly to Dean’s car before Dean knew what he was doing.

Castiel breathed heavily, a musky scent spilling into the Chevy.”Are you unscathed?” He murmured.

Dean had no idea what unskathed meant or whatever he said, but it probably meant alright.”Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Dean licked his lips and blinked.”How are you? Did I hit your car? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and I didn’t see-”

Castiel interrupted his blabbering, thankfully, and lifted his hand to stop him.”Forgive me for interrupting. I am adequate. My vehicle is unharmed; you did not collide with it. It is fine. I understand that you must be tired from driving, especially in these conditions. It is alright.”

Castiel seemed so calm, speaking clearly and confidently. It was almost soothing. Dean sank further into his car. Definitely soothing. Dean closed his eyes.

“I’m still sorry.”

Castiel laughed at his response. A pure, gruff-like sound erupted from his throat, and Cas bent his head down, shaking it back and forth slightly. Dean felt somehow glad, or maybe even prideful for making Cas laugh, as if he accomplished something. However, this almost reminded him of a child being laughed at. He smiled to himself nonetheless.

“I am. It was my fault,” He looked at Cas’s shoulders, quivering with laughter. His finally rose and his eyes met Castiel’s.

“That is alright. But I still find it ridiculous to feel guilty after being forgiven,” Castiel had a grin plastered to his face, and although Dean had a slight clue that Cas had just made a joke, he didn’t understand it very well.

“I’m sorry for almost killing you,” Dean said. He looked away from his striking eyes, and back to his Ford Focus.

“There you are again, apologizing for the forgiven,” Castiel’s smile dimmed slightly, now a small smile.

“Damn it!” Dean clapped his hand over his mouth, smiling to himself.


	5. Psychoanalystic Dean: AKA Anal Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly a filler chapter, sorry
> 
> Did you know that the first winner of 'Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?' used his last lifeline to call his father to tell him he was going to win?

Days went by and Dean still couldn’t figure out how he ran into Castiel again. Overall, he just couldn’t get his mind off the encounter. As he gathered the remainder of his clothes and a couple of his knick-knacks, he couldn’t figure out who he was. Was he a lawyer? Is that why he wore a suit? What about those books?

Why was he even thinking about this? Why bother? Seeing him once was lucky. Seeing him twice was probable. Seeing him a third time is impossible. Like, really. There. He can forget about that guy now. Yup. End of story. Over.

* * *

The beginning of the school year of approaching quickly, and Dean was still kind of confused. Does he live at campus, or drive back and forth? He had made a list. Big decisions call for big lists. Pros and cons of living at campus:

  
  
  


Pros

|    
  
  


Cons  
  
---|---  
  
Save Gas

| 

Can't work as often  
  
Don’t have to travel back and

forth and housing is free

| 

Have to pay for housing  
  
And that’s all he could think of. But they had a lot of weight to them. If he can’t work as often, he can’t pay for housing or save up for tuition. If he does live on campus then he could save gas and stop the trouble of going back and forth. He really hated paying for gas.

Or, or, he could just move. Move to Claremont. Buy an apartment and just drive to class. Save money, live better, Walmart. He giggled to himself like an idiot.

But on the serious note, couldn’t he? He had enough money, so why not? Rent it while he stayed there. Maybe even have a roommate. Or not. Ugh, yeah, no. No roommate. That’s just a little weird. No, a lot weird.

But whether he like it or not, could he afford to pay rent, live stably, and save up for college? Ugh. He couldn’t have a roommate, especially some weirdo from Craigslist. Ew. That just about summed up his reaction to roommates. Dean Winchester never says ‘ew’, unless there are special circumstances, such as shady old men sleeping with him. Dean gagged to himself.


	6. Roommates and Spas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The places, streets, and such describes here are real. I looked them up. Be grateful. Please. 
> 
> Did you know Barney (How I Met Your Mother) always uses '83%' when he's stating a fact?

Towards the beginning of August, Dean had finally found the place. It was an apartment building about 5 minutes from the college. It was a light tan yellow mixture that reminded him of a slightly Spanish style home, but he knew nothing about architecture. Driving to and fro would be easy-peasy. All he did was drive east down W Oak Park Dr, then head north up S College Ave, and take a right down E 6th St, and take a final right down Amhurst Ave. The Indian Hill Villas, the apartment complex, seemed a little too top-notch for Dean, but he made it. However, the place was $1,300 for rent. He needed a roommate. But, hey, at least they had a pool. And he didn’t have to buy any appliances, thank god.

Described as “an oasis of beauty and peace nestled in Claremont, California,” the Indian Hill Villas were exactly that. Everything seemed to be right with this place. There was a pool, courtyard, sauna, pet care area, spa, and fitness center, which basically meant gym. Right…? Anyway, it was ridiculously beautiful. And so close to school; Dean had to take it. And plus he had a roommate. A good one, or at least an alright one. His name was Chuck Shirley, and he was a writer or something. He had texted Dean and told him he ‘wouldn’t be a bother’ and swore he’d ‘pay my rent on time’. I was almost as if Chuck was scared of Dean, the way he talked to him. However, they came to an agreement and decided to split the rent for a double bedroom, one bathroom, apartment.

The first meeting with Chuck was a little weird, but the guy seemed harmless. Chuck had worn a dress jacket with a t-shirt, almost as if he couldn’t figure out how formal he should be. There were scratches were the razor had cut to deeply on his face and he looked so weary. However, it kind of worked and he spoke to Dean very quickly. This is how it went down.

_Dean slumped in the restaurant booth, absentmindedly chewing on his fingernails. He stopped, realizing his habit, before frowning at his nails. A blond petite thing tapped her fingernails on her board before looking at Dean and almost skipping over to his table._

_“Would you like something, sir?” She tittered like a bird. Dean almost groaned out loud. He had no time for girls like her, especially after work, unless she was a lay. Which, god help him, she wasn’t._

_“A coffee, black, would be fine. And why not some fries, too,” he mumbled, stressed from working almost 10 hours at Bobby’s garage. He reprimanded himself mentally for being so. He had to meet his new roomate today, and he certainly didn’t want to make the wrong impression._

_Her smile faded a bit when she noticed that he really wasn’t interested. However, it brightened again and she blinked at him sexily._

_“Right away, sir.” Well fuck her. No, not like that. He meant something along the lines of ‘get out of my face I’m not here for your ‘virginity’, you slut, this is a public restaurant’. Something like that. He was too tired to think straight. Holy shit he was worn out._

_What must have been minutes later, but seemed like seconds, the bubble blonde came back, swaying her hips and smirking. She brought his coffee on a little tray, setting his fries down first. However, the tray clattered ominously and slipped, making its crash startlingly quickly. The fiery hot liquid splashed onto the countertop of the table, dripping lazily into his lap with stings._

_“Jesus Christ!” he swore, trying to move, to get away from the hot caffeine. Now he was awake. Even drugs couldn’t do that that fast._

_The blonde grabbed the towel she held in her apron pocket and started dabbing the table and then his pants, blubbering how sorry and clumsy she was. He grabbed her wrist when her rag started entering treacherous territory, by his standards, and he pushed her back._

_“It’s fine,” he grumbled. She smiles and left. He went to grab his phone to check the time and patted himself down, noticing how it wasn’t there. His wallet was gone too._

_“Son of a bitch….”He growled. He fumbled out of the booth and ran after that fucking blonde and snatched at her wrist again. He opened his palm and smiled irritably._

_“My phone and wallet, dearest,”he spat out the last word._

_“Bela, not again, you thieving…!” A man yelled from the counter.”I thought I told you something!”_

_‘Bela’, or whatever, grimaced and poked around in her pocket before handing him his belongings._

_“Thanks,” he muttered, letting her skinny wrist loose. She looked at him indignantly and scowled, heading towards the man who had yelled at her._

_Dean blew out a breath in exasperation. ‘Nice town’, he thought to himself. He sat back in the booth, now dry from her toweling. He set his head into his hands just as his roommate walked in._

_The poor fellow wore a black t-shirt with some kind symbol on it, with a dress jacket. Like for a suit. With jeans. But somehow, it didn’t look as weird as it should have. The guy glanced around, eyes wide lips pursed. His hair was messy and he had circles under his eyes like purple-black bruises._

_Dean stood up and walked toward him before the poor guy embarrassed himself._

_“Hey, I’m Dean, and you must be Chuck, right?” he smiled politely, giving him a hand to shake._

_Chuck nodded.”Yup, that’s me. Chucky,” he laughed nervously, shaking Dean’s hand a little too vigorously._

_Dean smiled.”Well, I suggest not taking on the nickname of a doll,” he joked. He let Chuck’s hand go._

_“Uhhhh, yeah, I should probably stop doing that. Anyway, we should sit down, I’m tired,” he groaned.’Well, that makes two of us, Chuck’, Dean thought. They both slid into the booth where Dean was attacked by that coffee._

_“So, Chuck, um, whats your job? What do you do?” Dean started._

_“I’m a writer. Not a very successful one, I guess..”he muttered self-consciously._

_“Give me a name. Maybe I’ve heard of one,” Dean poked._

_“Supernatural.”_

_Nada._

_“Uhh, haven’t heard of that one,” Dean smiled nervously._

_“Yeah, it’s a series. It’s pretty weird,” Chuck’s eyebrows came together._

_“So you work at home. How much do you make a month?”_

_“About 5,000. On good months it’s around 6 or 7,000.”_

_Damn. Dean made around around 1,500 a week regularly, 2,000 if he worked extra hours. Less than this sad son of a bitch. Ain’t that a kicker._

_“Got any pets?”Dean prompted._

_“Allergic.”_

_“Ladies?”_

_“Nope.”_

And so forth. Turns out Chuck would be a perfect roommate. As long as he didn’t eat all the goddamn food in the house.


	7. The Adventures of Douche Teacher and Dean's 'Friends'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha this will fuck with you until next week. Fuck you all. Not really. I love all of you. I just like to write. *sheepishly crawls away*

The move had been made, all of Dean’s stuff pushed into the old Impala and off he went to Claremont, a three hour drive. Chuck and him had paid the rent for the first month and the deposit, so the place was theirs. The first day of class was almost upon them. In fact, tomorrow, September 2, was when it started.

Dean had gotten most of the required materials, pencils, paper, and whatnot, but he had no idea what course to take. Should he stay a mechanic? I mean, he was a pretty good one. But his back was breaking from all the strain. But 2,000 a week was good money, right? He could handle it. His muscles was arguing.

He should at least choose the stuff he like for his courses, right? Let’s just make some checkmarks and boom, they’re on a roll. It turned out it was harder than that. He would be taking:

ENGL 144 PO - Psychoanalysis and Literature RLST 015 CM - Myth and Religion SPAN 065 CH - Spanish for Bilinguals MUS 020 GUPO - Guitar Level II (Indiv Instr)

* * *

 

Dean signed up for these course a little later, and he barely knew if he did it the right way, to be honest.Thankfully, as the narrator, I can assure you, he did. He has his bright moments.

Anyway, Dean was driving to class. It was a much shorter drive than he was used to, considering it took 30 minutes for him to get to work from his dad's house. However, now it took an hour. But he did save gas going to class. Not to mention he could eat lunch at home. That was weird. He could get used to it, though.

The impala's engine quieted to a shiver and he jingled the keys out of the ignition, shoving them into his pocket and grabbing his duffel bag. He chucked the old, navy green thing over his shoulder and walked to class briskly. Another déjà vu moment passed over him. How many times had he done this, years earlier?

His first class, Myth and Religion, blew. On a totally different level.

His teacher Professor Crowley, was a dick of majestic proportions.

"Hello, class. I am your teacher, Professor Crowley. Call me anything else, and I'll be sure you rue it," he walked around the class, seriousness dripping from his British-accented voice. Dean had no idea what rue meant, but he didn't want to find out.

The teacher was a little bit shorter than him, with dark hair, flat hair and stubble. His grey eyes were uncaring and his stroll was haughty, almost evoking power. And he wore full suits to class. Ridiculously.

"Now, this class will explain the differences and likenesses of myth and religion. However, if you're here to get "closer to Jesus", I'm afraid you have the wrong place. Look for a church about 5 miles from here, ok, sugar?" He glared at the blonde girl who was thumbing her cross in the back row. She let go of it and fidgeted in her chair uncomfortably.

"I expect papers and assignments turned in on time, or you don't get a grade for it. I expect complete awe of my work, brilliant as it is, and silence. One phone, one off hand remark, and you leave my class," the man threatened. 'He's the king of Hell', Dean thought. No teacher had been such an arrogant ass.

"So! Let's get to work."

The next hour was a painful session of Crowley lecturing and making fun of students with questions.

"Um, sir, I don't think stating that Christianity is a myth respects my religion," an idiotic, but courageous girl commented.

"Well I don't think your presence respects my existence! Is that fair? Do not interrupt me! As I was saying, the complete idea that such a man had so much power is redi...." He continued to ramble. Dean almost prayed to God that the class would end.

And thankfully, it did. He only had another class to get to after lunch, and right now, Dean was famished.

Dean met most of his new friends during lunch, a handful which he didn’t warm up to until later. He had decided to eat lunch outside since he had brought it, so why bother going home to just eat his stupid ass lunch. He had packed himself a sandwich with turkey and mayo, and an apple, throwing in a Coke to keep him sugar-filled and happy. Dean sat quietly on a bench, holding his sandwich in both hands and looking in front of him absentmindedly.

A creeping sensation whispered against his neck and he turned around sharply, squinting his eyes aggressively. A girl with wild black hair and a round face laughed up at him, lips a deep red with makeup. She laughed deeply, the noise odd to him.

“Well, kiddo, you’re sharper than most. I gotta hand it to ya, never thought I’d ever be caught,” she smiled lopsidedly. The weird girl brushed her hand harshly against his hair and he cried out.

“Hey! Stop it, I’m trying to eat my lunch in peace, Madonna,” he grumbled. She scooted besides him on the bench and he positively groaned.

“Aww, don’t be so rude. I’m just here to entertain,” she grinned sarcastically.” I’m Meg.”

“Hey, um, Meg.I’m Dean. Mind entertaining someone else for a while?” he muttered.

“See! I like you already.”

“Ugggh. I just want to eat in peace. I’m too old for you anyway,” Dean protested.

“I ain’t too young for anyone. Anyway, I didn’t mean 'like' in the way you meant it. But I bet you know how to get a girl into a bed,” she drawled.

“Meg, for god’s sake!” Dean heard someone shout. A tall and lanky red head girl approached, slinging an arm around the demon girl.

”Don’t mind her, she’s just havin’ fun.”

“Maybe she could have fun somewhere else.”

The girl was unfazed.

”I’m Charlie,” she introduced herself. Dean set his sandwich down.

”And if you knew me, you would know I don’t give a shit. Just let me eat, dammit.”

“He’s Dean,” Meg chided.

“Ahh, Dean. Have ya met Garth?”

“No, and I don’t want to.”

“Garth! It’s clear!” Charlie shouted across the campus to someone. A boy even lankier than Charlie approached. A slight stubble was growing on him and his collar was pressed harshly. His brown eyes shone.

“Hello, sir. I’m Garth Fitzgerald the fourth.”

Oh, dear. Dean gave up. He smiled politely.

”I’m Dean.” Meg laughed.

”Dean, are you gay?”

“Excuse me?” he snarled back.

She splayed back on the bench.”Ol’ Garthy is the first person you didn’t snarl at. He’s a guy. We’ve been kind to ya, and, we’re pretty hot.” she giggled.

“No, I’m not gay, Meg. I’ve just given up. Befriend me, hell, take me to the mall. I’ve lost hope.”

She snorted.

“Really.”

“I’ll believe that if you get past Clarence without a look.”

“Who’s Clarence?”

She laughed harder.


	8. Fancy Works and Mini Skirts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Ringo Starr appeared in a Japanese advertisement, selling apple sauce? Ironically, his name means 'apple sauce' in Japanese.

Dean was glad when his phone reminded him that his next class was starting in less than five minutes. He waved Meg and Charlie off, grumbling that he had class and how he shouldn’t hang out with children.

Meg laughed. She tended to do that a lot.

Dean threw away the paper sack and remnants of his lunch. He started jogging lightly to the room assigned as his Spanish for Bilinguals class. He thought to himself on the way there. It shouldn’t be that hard. Dean worked with a lot of Hispanics at Bobby’s and he managed to pick some stuff up. Mostly ‘cuz the guys had taught him. He could carry a conversation with them, so how hard could a Spanish class be?

He walked into the auditorium-like class and looked around. There were a couple of Hispanic kids, but most of the class was made up of white people like himself. He spotted Meg in the middle.

She had laid herself out, feet on table, eating an apple from lunch. She grinned at him and patted the spot next to her fondly. The rest of the class seemed to avoid her, making a large circle around her in a comical way. He rolled his eyes and walked up the rows of seats until he made it to her. He dumped his bag on the ground next to his seat and slouched.

She looked at him, then somewhere off in space. She glanced back at him when he heard a door open.

“Here comes Prince Charming,” she mumbled, leering at him. He wasn’t expecting at all the person who walked through the door.

“Holy shit, it’s Cas,” he breathed.

Castiel fucking Novak walked slowly into the classroom with his leather satchel and everything. He wore almost the same exact fucking suit that he wore when he met Dean. When Dean almost hit him with his car. This was impossible. He wasn’t supposed to see him again. Why, Fate?

Meg suffocated a laugh before squinting at him.”You know him or something?”

“Something like that.”

Dean decided to forget him. So what if Mr. Blue-eyed Wonder was his teacher? That meant nothing. He had just seen his teacher around a lot, right? It’s not like there was something exclusive going on. That would be weird. And it’s not like Dean was gay anyway.

Dean sat silently as Cas, I mean, Mr. Novak, read roll call. He looked a little rigid, almost nervous. His voice was kinda shaky at first but grew firmer over time. When Dean was finally called, almost last, Ca- Mr. Novak stumbled and squinted. He began to scan the rows until he spotted Dean’s raised hand.

“Here.”

Mr Novak’s shoulders squared and he looked up in surprise.

“Thank you… Mr. Winchester,”he mumbled. Dean felt the weight of infinites in that pause. Thank god he didn’t call him Dean. That would have been weird. So weird. God forbid.

Dean watched as Mr. Novak wrote his name on the board in beautiful script. It wasn’t even handwriting. It was script. It was fucking ridiculous. His writing was tall and fancy. Ridiculously so. As if he had taken special classes or something.

“My name is Professor Novak. You may also call me Mr. Novak if you wish,” Mr Novak said in a husky voice. It didn’t travel very far for a voice, so Dean could barely hear him. However, the entire class was silent as he spoke, making it easier to hear.

“Mmkay, Clarence,” Meg yelled up at him through her apple.

‘Clarence’ sighed and glared harshly at Meg. She almost choked on it.

"Today we will be visiting your knowledge of Spanish. Everyone here has not developed onto the exact same degree of Spanish speaking, I can infere, so we will be..." Mr. Novak spoke hesitantly, choosing his words precisely, even taking his time to.

The entire three hours he was there, Dean listened to Cas review the curriculum of the year to the class and write elegantly on the board. Sometimes he would stop to answer a question, but the entire time the class was silent. It was eerie.

Dean didn't mind, though, and watched lazily as his teacher wrote something down in his little black notebook that he had laid on his desk. He watched his fingers snap up after every word he wrote was finished and watched his eyes travel around the class. When his focus happened to stop at Dean, he would jump a bit, uncomfortable, but then would remember that he himself was staring so he would blush, then start doodling in his notebook.

Meg's chuckling brought him back to Earth.

"Oh my god," She whispered-giggled."You're like a fucking schoolgirl."

"What are you talking about?" Dean questioned.

"Look at you, staring at him all wide-eyed and ready to please. Jesus, am I in a porno or something?" She laughed a little too loudly this time.

"Is there something I said that was particularly laughable?" Cas- I mean, Mr. Novak directed his attention to Megaen.

"Not really, Clarence. Just laughing at Deano, here," she smiled sweetly.

Castiel turned his smoldering gaze to Dean and Dean practically leaped out of his chair. Apparently satisfied, Mr. Novak turned back to the board.

The day couldn't get worse.

****  
  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, its really short. I know, I hate it too.


End file.
